


How Not To Make A Great First Impression On Your Soulmate

by TheSilverQueen



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Don't copy to another site, First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, Marvel Happily Ever After Harlequin Hoopla 2020, Orbeez, Prompt 19, Soulmates, cop erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23160715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverQueen/pseuds/TheSilverQueen
Summary: The first words your soulmate speaks to you appear afterwards on your arm. Erik gets the dubious honor of his words being: "Quite sorry that my children’s antics with 200,000 Orbeez balls have just about destroyed the town’s sewage."
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 19
Kudos: 312
Collections: MHEA Harlequin Hoopla Prompt Challenge 2020





	How Not To Make A Great First Impression On Your Soulmate

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution for the [Marvel Happily Ever After Harlequin Hoopla](https://heamarvel.tumblr.com/harlequin)! Specifically, I chose prompt 19 for the Romance category: "Soulmates".
> 
> This was also inspired by this amazing & hilarious [Twitter thread about a guy who poured like a billion Orbeez balls into his bathtub](https://twitter.com/yuqheis/status/1234216618613526530), because man, can you imagine if a mutant child got their hands on it?

Officer Erik Lehnsherr’s day starts off normally: he wakes up, takes a steaming hot shower, gets dressed, makes breakfast, watches the morning news, and then is out the door so that he can arrive at the station by 7AM sharp. He’s pretty good at it too; in all his years with the force, he’s never been late, arriving precisely when the clock ticks over to 7AM. His coworkers call him freaky, but only a few know about the advantage that lurks under his skin.

Hard to misjudge an entrance when one can feel the gears grinding in the clock, after all.

However, this morning when Erik steps into the shower, closing the curtain with a flick of his wrist and turning on the water with a snap, no water comes. He snaps his fingers a few more times and even wrestles with the knob manually, but the showerhead remains stubbornly dry. He finally gives up when he turns the knob again and feels it warp under his fingers.

Unfortunately, the day does not get better from then on.

He finds himself unable to make coffee, since the sink doesn’t work, and flushing the toilet leads to some very odd sounds. He’s reduced to munching sadly on a stale donut and making a note to call the water company from work, but that thought is abruptly discarded when he actually arrives at work because everyone is running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

This is how Erik finds out that _no one_ has water.

* * *

They rule out any kind of attack pretty quickly, considering there are no ransom demands and the water company’s systems are up and running as normal. The surrounding towns have no problems, so it’s limited to Westchester, but it’s indiscriminate – everyone from the mayor down to the tiny coffee shops have no running water.

Next they rule out damage or technological failures. The pipes work – Erik can tell from a distance, even if he doesn’t volunteer as such until maintenance workers arrive – and all the systems show that water should be flowing. 

Then, of course, the maintenance workers actually get into the pipes and discovers the problem.

Or, rather, the thousands of tiny little water-absorbing Orbeez balls that are the problem. 

This is how Erik ends up going door to door handing out notices warning of a water shortage due to someone plugging the entire sewage system with what must be thousands of Orbeez.

* * *

The final stop on Erik’s door to door misery tour is actually quite a trek, since it’s a giant mansion that purports to be a school. It has a really fancy title that Erik only sort of glances at, but he does appreciate the old-fashioned aesthetic, if only because the grounds and the house are saturated with metal that hums in perfect symphony to Erik’s metal sensibilities. It even has a proper giant metal doorknocker, which would be really heavy to anyone who couldn’t manipulate metal, and Erik feels a great sense of satisfaction when he raps it heavily against the door.

Several minutes later, it opens, but instead of any kind of adult or teacher, Erik gets . . . a child.

She has bright red hair, mismatched clothing, and a lollipop hanging out of her mouth, and she squints at him like she thinks he’s come to kidnap her. 

Erik, who is the one person exempt from the babysitting of Officer Grant’s baby for a reason, says, “Hi.”

The girl gives him another suspicious look and slams the door.

It’s actually quite impressive.

Erik goes to knock again, and this time it opens to reveal a harassed looking man. He’s not well-put together either – his shirt is stained, his pants are ripped, and there’s an ink smudge on his cheek – but he at least looks old enough to legally drink. He peers at Erik through huge glasses, like he’s just sobering up, and says, “Uh, can I help you?”

Erik raises an eyebrow and points at his badge. “Officer Lehnsherr with the Westchester PD. Can I speak to whoever’s in charge? It’s about the lack of water.”

For some reason, the guy – instead of lighting up with understanding or shouting angrily about having no water – just hangs his head and sighs deeply, as if he’s just come home to a massive mess on the floor and realized that giving a brand new puppy free rein was probably a bad idea.

“Come in,” he mumbles, and pulls the door open wide.

The house, it turns out, is just as beautiful inside as it is outside. There’s a gorgeous carved bannister that loops around, paintings that are probably worth more than Erik’s annual salary, and delicate lamps and tiny lights tucked into the wall. It feels almost like a museum, complete with a dozen kids underfoot running everywhere and touching things they probably shouldn’t. The man moves through the kids with the ease of long practice, and Erik follows his lead, tempted to throw caution to the wind and just float above everyone’s heads. 

If it wouldn’t mean outing him as a mutant, anyways.

After a dozen turns and three hallways, Erik is completely lost and has no idea how the man doesn’t hesitate at every new door, but he is grateful that he can still feel the call of the big iron gates out front for whenever he needs to try and leave. Thankfully, after one last hallway, the man stops in front of a study and nods inside.

“The Prof’s in there,” he says. He opens his mouth like he’s about to continue speaking, but just then Erik hears – and feels – an ear-splitting metallic crash, and the man takes off down the hallway with the speed of a dog hot on the trail of a suspect.

Erik just sighs and goes into the study.

Erik’s first impression is that the study is very homey. There’s a warm fire crackling in the grate, there are books lining the walls, and the furniture looks soft and inviting. There’s a beautifully carved desk near the window, and seated in a wheelchair in front of the desk is a man in a wheelchair. He’s dressed elegantly, in a very nice suit with polished leather shoes, but his entire focus is upon two small children seated on the floor. 

“ – what we learned in class,” he is saying, his tone disapproving. “This is not a game. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” the children say.

“Excellent.”

Then he looks up, and Erik realizes that the professor is actually quite young. He’d been imagining some old frail man, but this man can’t be that much older than Erik, given the rounded cheeks in his face and the laugh lines on his cheeks. He wheels himself over without prompting, extending a hand. 

“I’m Officer Erik Lehnsherr,” Erik says, shaking it. “And you are?”

“Quite sorry that my children’s antics with 200,000 Orbeez balls have just about destroyed the town’s sewage,” the professor says. “I’m afraid they’re still getting used to their powers, you see. I imagine you understand.”

“What?” Erik says blankly. 

“What, did you think you were alone in the world?” The professor smiles. “I’m Charles Xavier. Welcome to my school for gifted youngsters.”

* * *

Erik learns three things about Charles Xavier in short succession.

Firstly, he apparently accidentally outs people as mutants quite often. When he gathers the faculty round, at least three people – upon finding out how he outed Erik – sigh or face palm or just glare at Charles.

Secondly, he has a very sunny attitude and seems supremely unconcerned that he has so many children all over his ancestral house. He also denies that, perhaps, he has too many for one adult when Erik asks.

Thirdly, he has no concept of self-preservation at all.

“You . . . want to just admit that your students – your _mutant_ students – used their powers of multiplication and telekinesis to destroy our town’s sewage system with Orbeez balls?” Erik repeats.

Charles blinks at him. He appears completely unbothered by the idea, as though Erik hasn’t worked on the police force for ten years and still hasn’t admitted he’s a mutant. “Yes, why not?”

“You think the humans would really believe you?”

“I wrote my thesis paper on mutation,” Charles says dismissively. “Mutants are not a complete secret.”

“Did they know you were a mutant when you wrote it?”

“Well, no.”

“And why not?”

“People find telepathy a bit . . . frightening,” Charles admits. He taps the side of his head. “You don’t know how many people’s heads I’ve promised to stay out of.”

“ . . . Right,” Erik says. “But seriously. Do you even have security here?”

“Whatever for?”

Erik groans and gives into the temptation to thump his head onto the table. “Charles, for god’s sake – no one knows this school is for mutants! Can you imagine what the humans might do if they found out?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be the best publicity.”

Erik tilts his head and glares at him. Charles’s tone is completely serious, and Erik almost wants to punch him. “Or they might send death threats, or gather in anti-mutant mobs outside of your doors, or even try to attack.”

“You’re a very pessimistic man, aren’t you.”

“How about we agree not to tell anyone and let the water company sort out how to fix it?”

“An officer of the law, suggesting I lie? How naughty.”

“ _Charles_.”

“Oh, very well.”

* * *

Charles insists that Erik stay for dinner in return for helping them cover it all up. Erik tries to protest, but Charles is, perhaps, even more stubborn than Erik and eventually gets him down to the dining room by corralling and herding him with his wheelchair like some kind of rolling sheepdog. Erik sort of regrets agreeing when he sees the chaos there – kids running about, food everywhere, adults trying their best to eat without being interrupted – but he can’t deny it’s a warm atmosphere. There’s food aplenty, for one, and the kids dig in without hesitation or reluctance. 

The real mind-boggler, though, is just the casual and blatant use of powers. 

One girl, for example, is eschewing utensils altogether just to slice her meat and bring it up to her mouth with her powers. One boy is floating cross-legged in the air, although he is hovering over his chair in deference to decorum. And that doesn’t even account for all the mutants with obvious physical mutations just casually eating, using claws and folding back wings and combing back fur. 

“You’re staring,” Charles says gently, but not unkindly.

Erik looks down at his plate. Even though the knife and fork are metal and singing in his grasp, he does not manipulate them. He clears his throat. “I’ve never been among so many. Of our kind.”

Charles hums. “Most of us haven’t. A lot of them thought they were alone. But they aren’t. You aren’t. _We_ aren’t.”

“Are you trying to convince me to stay?” Erik jokes.

Charles’s eyes twinkle. “Well, it would be nice to have a fellow chess player.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a game if you read my mind during it.”

“I would never,” Charles says, holding his hand over his heart like he’s a prima donna putting on a show. “That would ruin the game.”

“Uh huh,” Erik says skeptically, and then he uses his powers to levitate his now empty plate and utensils to the sink. Some of the kids stare, most of them ignore him, but Charles beams like he’s just scored a victory. 

It’s nice, to be on the receiving end of that smile.

* * *

Erik finally gets home so late that he doesn’t even bother to test whether or not water has been restored. He just sets down his stuff, strips off his uniform, and digs around for his sleep clothing. He turns on his alarm with a flick of his wrist and is about to do the same to turn off the light when he catches sight of his bare arm.

Or, what used to be his bare arm.

Now, in curling beautiful cursive lies the words: _Quite sorry that my children’s antics with 200,000 Orbeez balls have just about destroyed the town’s sewage_.

Erik had once asked his mother how she’d known she’d met her soulmate in his father. His mother had described so many things, of course – the way her heart had raced, the way her breath had been caught, the way she’d been unable to take her eyes off of him – but the most useful information had been this: the first words he had spoken to her had appeared on her skin shortly thereafter, as it does for all soulmates.

Erik sits on the bed and runs a finger over the words. It’s beautiful script, and he can imagine it being Charles’s.

He thinks about Charles’s wide smile, his sunny nature, his enthusiastic optimism. He thinks about the mansion, ancient and elegant and full of laughter and life. He thinks about so many of their kind there, growing up in peace and without prejudice, learning the skills so that one day they might find more of their kind and spread out around the globe and maybe, one day, to the stars.

He thinks about chess.

“Checkmate, Professor,” Erik says softly.

* * *

Erik is fortunately not on shift the next day, so he is able to make the trek out to Charles’s school again. This time it’s a different child who opens the door, a boy with reptilian scales up his face and claws on his fingers, but he doesn’t slam the door in Erik’s face, so that’s an improvement. Erik gets inside and looks around, feeling a warmth in his chest at the already familiar scene of children dashing about, and before he even has a chance to wonder about how he’s going to navigate through the maze of the mansion, he feels the strangest sensation, like a phantom tickle on the back of his neck.

_Hello again, Erik,_ Charles says, sounding like wind chimes in the wind and the cool surprise of mint in dessert. 

Erik smiles without thinking about it. “Hello, Charles. Mind giving me a hint?”

_How about a map?_ Charles teases.

Whatever Charles does next, it’s even stranger – Erik imagines it must be like what robots might feel like, having data transferred and downloaded. He feels like a film has dropped over his eyes, but after he blinks, it’s like he has an entire game walkthrough memorized and overlaid onto the walls. He looks at the nearest door and knows instantly that it leads to the patio, if he takes two rights and a left, and that Charles used to like hiding behind it to surprise guests to the mansion. He looks at the bannister and knows instantly that if he goes up it, the library is on his left, the bathroom is on his right, and the study room they’ve converted into a training room is straight ahead.

“And you are?”

_Blue room,_ Charles answers, like an echo of an echo. _Good timing, my next class doesn’t start for twenty minutes._

“Well, that’s good,” Erik says, heading off towards where his new memories tell him the blue room is. “I think you might not want the brats to be party to this discussion.”

_Erik._

“They basically destroyed the sewage system, Charles.”

_I’ll make amends._

“And how much are those amends going to cost? Hell, how much will it cost just to fix this old place?”

_One of us is very good at the stock market. It helps out._

“What, can they see the future?” Erik teases as he pushes open the door.

Charles smiles at him from the desk. He’s wearing a soft cardigan today, but he still has shiny shoes and a tie. “No,” he says, “they have an accounting degree. They can also teleport short distances, though.”

“That’s handy.” Erik shuts the door and crosses his arms. “So.”

“So.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Charles laughs. “If that’s how you want it,” he says, but he obligingly wheels around and draws up his sleeve so that Erik can see the words scrawled in Erik’s untidy handwriting on his arm, marching up towards his elbow like tiny little soldiers.

_I’m Officer Erik Lehnsherr,_ they read, and Erik can’t help the way his breath catches, or the way he sinks to his knees to get a closer look.

“I thought I would be alone,” Erik whispers. “I turned 18 and my arm was still bare, and I thought there would be no one.”

“Me too,” Charles admits. “I used to spend hours in Cerebro, waiting and wondering. I thought perhaps I had missed your words, too caught up in my own mind. And a hundred other minds.”

It’s still a little frightening, the idea of Charles’s power, so absolute and all-encompassing. But then again, Erik thinks, he’s quite dangerous too, able to warp the very metal Charles uses to get around, to say nothing of the iron that flows in his blood or watch on his hand or the sheer abundance of metal in the mansion. Yet Charles still handed him the keys to the kingdom – opened the door, and bade him enter, and made him welcome. 

“You are very trusting,” Erik tells his soulmate. “I hope you know I’m a lot more pessimistic.”

“Maybe that’s what I needed,” Charles counters. “Just as you need a reminder that there is joy to match the sadness, and miracles to match the tragedies.”

“Or maybe,” Erik says dryly, “you just wanted someone who could easily help you update the plumbing.”

“Well, I won’t say no to some assistance.”

Erik kisses him then, because how could he not? How could he not love Charles, love his brightness and his joy and his everlasting faith in good things? How could he not love the man who opened his home to their kind and made all welcome, so that no one would end up like Erik did, frightened and alone and trying desperately to hide who and what he was? 

_I love you too,_ Charles says, warm as a thick blanket and soft as freshly spun wool. _Does this mean you’ll agree to move in with me?_

“Only when you fix the water situation.”

“One of us is very good at manipulating water, actually.”

“They better be.”

FINIS

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: And then Erik moves in, and helps Charles fix all the plumbing and scold the kids, and they live happily ever after.
> 
> Huge thanks to the mods of HEA Marvel for putting together another great event! If you haven't already, I'd highly recommended checking them out on [Tumblr](https://heamarvel.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heamarvel), and checking out the rest of the works in the [AO3 Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/MHEA_Harlequin_2020).
> 
> Find me @ Telegram & Discord as TheSilverQueen : [Pillowfort as TheSilverQueen](https://www.pillowfort.social/thesilverqueen) : [Tumblr as thesilverqueenlady](http://thesilverqueenlady.tumblr.com) : [Twitter as silverqueenlady](https://twitter.com/silverqueenlady) : [NewTumbl as thesilverqueen](https://thesilverqueen.newtumbl.com/) : [Dreamwidth as thesilverqueenlady](https://thesilverqueenlady.dreamwidth.org/)


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